


Phoenix-Born

by Sarcastic_Metaphor



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Katara can have a little traumatization as a treat, Phoenix Zuko AU, Scars, Suicide, Suicide Idealization, Temporary Character Death, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko's been having a real rough time, idk lmk if there's anything else i need to tag for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Metaphor/pseuds/Sarcastic_Metaphor
Summary: Zuko held very little fear of death. Pain, he was well accustomed to. Shame and pride were also sensations he knew well. But death?Death was like an old friend. A mother figure. A watchful eye who sometimes whisked him away from the mortal realm to play.(Or: Zuko is blessed with the gift of being reborn after dying. Life is still largely unkind to him.)
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 1645
Collections: A:tla, AtLA <10k fics to read, Giving Zuko More Reasons To Be Angsty, Koi’s atla fic recs





	Phoenix-Born

**Author's Note:**

> ok ok ok so I really love AU's where Zuko isn't human/Zuko can come back from the dead so I decided I wanted to put my own spin on it! I also kind of wanted to write a character study where Zuko isn't afraid of death at all/really needs to learn to value himself more. 
> 
> The OC is the phoenix who's Zuko's ancestor (more will be explained in the fic itself don't worry).
> 
> Also, please be mindful of the tags, as there's some heavy stuff in this fic (but nothing that I think is super graphic).

Katara realized what was about to happen a moment before it did. But even then, it was too late. 

She had to know if she could beat Zuko one on one in a fight. She needed to, because she was certain no one else would be more willing to end him if he posed any real threat. Except… that had always been an abstract scenario in her head. 

So she had challenged him to a sparring match. The Western Air Temple had plenty of wide open spaces for them to fight in. Zuko accepted. They dueled, opposite elements colliding in smoke and steam. All the while, Katara could tell that Zuko was holding back. His heat subdued, his breath lacking the bite she knew it could hold. For whatever reason, that only made her more furious. While he was mid-leap, she grabbed him by the ankle with a water whip and  _ pulled.  _

She should have been more aware of their surroundings. Zuko’s head slammed into the railing of the nearby fountain. 

A horrible, heart-stopping  _ crack _ sounded across the courtyard. 

And Zuko fell to the ground, unmoving and unseeing. 

Katara had no memory of running over to him, only that she was suddenly kneeling on the ground next to him- next to his body- and trying to heal an injury that was not fixable. She could tell by the way his neck was bent- wrong and crooked- that it had snapped. He was dead. 

Aang’s only hope to learn firebending in the world. And Katara had killed him.

His eyes were still staring at her, glossy and dull like unpolished amber. How long did she sit there, frozen, until someone found her? 

“Katara! What happened? Is Zuko-”   
  
Aang’s words faltered. 

“...What…”

What had Katara done?   


She didn’t sleep that night. She couldn’t. 

Not when Zuko’s body was wrapped in an ancient white sheet in some room within the temple. 

When Aang had found them, he had no idea what to do. Sokka and Toph had no idea what to do. To just toss Zuko’s body over the edge of the temple, as Katara told herself she might one day have to, seemed so obscene and cruel. 

Instead, in the morning, they were going to give him a proper burial. According to Aang, Fire Nation funerals occurred at dawn. (Or at least they did a hundred years ago.) It was so Agni could guide his children to the spirit world, or something. The only thing that mattered to Katara was the fact that Zuko’s corpse was still far too close to her.    
  
She laid awake all night, until the sky began to shift from dark hues of indigo to yellows and reds. She was the first to sit up, but did not move until the others began to wake. 

Did they blame her?   
  
Out of everyone in the group, she was the most motherly. And yet, she was the first (and only) to take another human being’s life. The image of the old man that used to accompany Zuko, the man named Iroh, resurfaced in Katara’s mind. Such a kind looking old man, and Katara had taken his only nephew from him. 

Aang gathered ashes from the previous night’s campfire, saying they were used in some sort of funeral rite. Then without warning, Katara could smell smoke. She looked up, finding flames erupting from a nearby window. 

“What is  _ that?”  _ She heard Sokka ask.

Aang was the first to enter the temple, and everyone else followed. Katara hadn’t actually helped wrap or move Zuko’s body, but she knew he had been laid in the room that was once his. She found Aang staring wide eyed into the room on fire, watching not with fear, but with awe. She dared to gaze into the room and-

The body was on fire. Zuko was  _ burning.  _

Katara flung herself back, hand pressed over her mouth to keep from screaming. Smoke filled her lungs and burned her eyes. A hand wrapped around her other wrist, a comforting weight that also forced her to stay. Aang was giving her this strange look, one that was a mix of concern and pity and maybe, possibly something hopeful. 

She didn’t see it happen, but all of a sudden the flames began to dissipate. Katara could tell because the heat on her back was less intense, and the flames didn’t cast as harsh shadows against the wall. 

“What…” Toph asked.

“How…” Sokka whispered. 

“He must be a phoenix-born.” Aang said, as if that explained anything. 

And then Katara heard the best and worst sound in her entire life. She heard Zuko shout. 

* * *

Zuko held very little fear of death. Pain, he was well accustomed to. Shame and pride were also sensations he knew well. But death?   
  
Death was like an old friend. A mother figure. A watchful eye who sometimes whisked him away from the mortal realm to play. Death first found him as a baby, when he grew sick during his first winter. Death cooed at him and wrapped him in its sweet embrace, but it was not able to keep him for long. According to Uncle Iroh, Zuko’s mother screamed and wailed through the night upon his first death, only to be shocked when Zuko’s crib burst into flames with the coming dawn. 

As Firebenders rose with the sun, so did the phoenix from the ashes. 

Phoenixes were creatures long since thought extinct. Or they had gone dormant, like how many hypothesized the Avatar to be. Once the messengers of Agni himself, phoenixes often walked upon the surface of the Earth disguised as mortals. Sometimes, they found human lovers and had children. And those children had children who had children who had children, so on and so forth. With each passing generation, the spiritual abilities of the phoenix ancestor became diluted until they were not recognizable at all. 

The last phoenix descendant had lived and died long before the war began. Zuko’s own existence was a miracle. The exact right bloodlines joined, with perhaps either the appropriate stars in the sky or with the Spirits’ intervention, resulted in the Fire Nation’s first phoenix-born in a century. 

His death and rebirth as a baby were celebrated. 

Zuko met death again when he was just a toddler. Swept out to sea by a rogue tide during a family vacation to Ember Island. Despite the efforts of his father, who leapt into the waters after him, Zuko had drowned. Death came to him with the help of La, who wrapped little Zuko up in a blanket of warm water as the air escaped from his lungs. 

Phoenixes were much harder to end than mortal men. Phoenix-born, however?

The Fire Sages were meticulous in unearthing ancient tomes and scrolls regarding the limitations of the phoenix-born. The answer?

They did not know. The only certain way to end the resurrection of a phoenix-born was to keep the body doused in water upon the coming dawn. If the flames could not take hold, Agni could not restore life to he-who-came-from-his-once-glorious-messenger, and the phoenix-born would stay dead. Zuko awoke the morning after his little adventure into La’s domain. He’d never know how fiercely both his parents prayed for him. 

(Ursa prayed for her precious son back. Ozai prayed that his son would return, so that his death would not be seen as an ill omen upon his future reign.)

The next time he met with death, it was by his own sister’s hand. An accident, surely, given that she was only nine years old at the time. By then, they had both understood what a phoenix was, but had little understanding of why the word was used so often in conjunction with Zuko. 

“How come you’re the phoenix? You’re not even a good firebender!” She said. 

Zuko had no legitimate answer for her. 

Mother liked his firebending, though. She called it  _ gentle _ when it should have been _ furious,  _ but somehow, she always made it sound like a good thing. Azula on the other hand, had always been described with words like _ efficient, ruthless,  _ and  _ cunning.  _ Her fire sometimes burned blue, hotter than anything Zuko had ever experienced. 

It was a cloudy day when Azula pulled him into the courtyard to play games. Swollen, gray clouds laden with the promise of rain obscured the blue of the sky. Azula was showing off the kata that she had perfected, the one that Zuko was still fumbling his way through.    
  
“It’s easy, Zuzu. Just move your feet like  _ this.” _

She said, knowing he didn’t have the balance to do what she did.

Zuko fell to the ground, wincing from the jolt that went through his side. Even so, he forced himself back to his feet and tried again. Azula smirked at him. She moved onto the next kata she learned, arms circling through the air as streams of fire trailed after her. Just as he was about to give up and go inside, Azula called out, “Hey, Zuzu, look at this!” 

Her fire was starting to look different, that much Zuko remembered. It arched and bent at strange angles, brighter and harsher than anything Azula had made before. It wasn’t so much fire as it was-

_ “Lightning.” _ Zuko said under his breath.

He watched as Azula danced with her lightning, twisting her arms and shifting her weight through the stances of her kata. She was laughing, not like herself but in the way a child did when presented with something new and exciting. It wasn’t intense and blinding, like how Zuko had once seen Uncle bend lightning. Azula’s light looked more like thin, little streamers flowing in the air. 

She was wholly unaware of her footwork until they both realized a moment too late that she was now pointing her two fingers directly at Zuko.

Zuko’s smile fell, and he took a step back.

Azula frowned, concentration waning for a fraction of a second. That was all it took. Lightning conjured could not just dissipate. It was raw energy that wanted to live and breathe, and it had to go  _ somewhere.  _

Zuko couldn’t remember the feeling of that lightning racing through his bones or his blood. He couldn’t remember the way it reached his chest and surged through his heart. 

One moment, he was staring at Azula and her lightning. The next, he opened his eyes and realized he was not home. The air was neither warm nor cold, neither humid nor dry, despite the tall mangrove trees all around him and the water below. Zuko spun around, not sure at all where he was. The little island he was on, really more of a large boulder, was the only land he could see in any direction. 

“Hello, there.”

Zuko startled, turning around to find a very, very tall man smiling down at him. He wore robes of red and had long, white hair. In his hair was the crest of the Crown Prince.

“W-who are you?” Zuko asked. 

The man smiled the way Uncle smiled, with kind eyes. 

“I am a friend, Prince Zuko.”

And the man knelt down before him. “I suppose you don’t remember me. The last time you visited, you were only a small child.”

Zuko frowned, and took another glance at his surroundings. A fog in the distance kept him from seeing very far. But if he squinted, he could see movement within. Big, lumbering creatures not found anywhere in his world.

“Am… am I dead?” Zuko asked, with not as much fear a child should have had. 

The man chuckled. “In a way. But you phoenix-born don’t tend to stay here long. Come morning, and you will find your way back home.”

The man turned his gaze upward, and whistled. A sudden rush of air made Zuko look up as well. His eyes widened as a dragon descended. Zuko, eleven years old but still only a child, shouted in fear. The talons or teeth that he had expected never came.

Instead, when Zuko opened his eyes, the dragon was staring at him. There was wisdom in its eyes in a way Zuko could never describe. A wisdom that surpassed the border between animal instinct and human intellect. It lowered its head in the equivalent of a bow. 

“Come, Prince Zuko. You have someone who wishes to see you again.”   
  
_ Again? _

This had to be a dream. But if it was, then Zuko had nothing to truly fear, right?   
  
So he trusted the strange, old man and his dragon. They soared through the air, and the wind that whipped past him felt more real than any dream Zuko ever had. Past towering trees and deep ravines, Zuko’s eyes widened as they came upon a vast canyon beneath a golden sky. Tall pillars of earth emerged from the basin of the valley, while water sprinted by. 

A shadow fell over him. Zuko looked up and gasped. 

A massive bird soared overhead. Bigger than Zuko. Bigger than any man. Its feathers glimmered as if endowed with glowing amber and rubies, a trail of fire cutting through the air in its wake. 

A phoenix. A  _ real _ phoenix.

The dragon descended and touched lightly upon one of those massive pillars. The ground there was carpeted in dry grass and ash. The phoenix landed besides them. And again, there was that wisdom-beyond-human-and-animal in its eyes. Zuko could feel the warmth radiating off the phoenix as it fixed its gaze upon him. It spoke without opening its mouth, eyes glinting like polished garnet.

_ “Ah, my little prince. How good it is to see you again.”  _ Her (was gender even a thing amongst spirits and phoenixes?) voice sounded like an air chime in the wind.

Zuko gawked. “We’ve met?”

The phoenix made a cooing sound in its throat.  _ Laughter.  _

“Though many, many generations separate us, we are kin.”

Zuko sucked in a breath and immediately fell to the ground. He bowed before Agni’s messenger, she who placed such a bountiful blessing upon Zuko. He heard more laughter.    
  
_ “Oh, no need for that here.” _

And Zuko felt the point of a beak comb gently through his hair. In that moment, he was reminded of the mother turtleduck and her young.

_ “You will have to go home soon, Prince Zuko. While it is nice to see how much you’ve grown, let us hope that we do not meet again for many years.” _

Zuko looked up, staring into the depths of those dark red eyes. And he wanted to stay. He wanted to ask his great-great-(however many generations)-grandmother everything about who he was. Why he was blessed to be a phoenix-born when he had a sister far more gifted than himself. 

She brushed her beak against the side of Zuko’s face.  _ “The road ahead of you will be difficult, my child. But in time, you will come to understand who you are.” _

Zuko never had the chance to ask her what she meant. He began to feel strange, not quite lightheaded but almost fuzzy at the edges. Like the smoke from an extinguished candle drifting away in the breeze.

_ “Dawn already approaches. Time for you to go home.” _

But he had just arrived! Zuko didn’t want to leave. 

“When-”

When would he see them again?

Then Zuko blinked. When he opened his eyes, there was a stone slab beneath him and the taste of ash on his tongue. The Fire Sages came to him with fresh clothes and bowls of fragrant water to wash the ash away.

He found it strange that he hadn’t woken up in his own bed. Zuko also found it strange that he couldn’t remember going to sleep at all. But was the dream (or vision?) with the kind man and the phoenix real then?

Though everyone told him he was incredibly fortunate to be reborn after death, Zuko stopped seeing his existence as a blessing and as something a little worse. What happened that day in the courtyard was never brought up again, but Azula avoided him for weeks. If Zuko was not under watch by the guards, it was Mother who always kept him by his side. Father said that Zuko was lucky to be a phoenix. That he was lucky to be alive. 

Zuko also started wearing long sleeves, even in the midst of summer. It was better than letting Azula see the scars. 

When Zuko had awakened that day after his third death, his chest, shoulders, back, and arms were laced with thread-thin, dark red scars. They trailed over his body like the arms of an octopus-squid, the result of his past death. Phoenixes were reborn flawless, unmarked and unscarred. Phoenix- _ born, _ on the other hand, did not.

But all Zuko wanted was for his mother and his sister to stop looking at him like a walking phantom. He wanted his father to stop staring at him like a precious gem to be hoarded. He at least thought he had his amazing older cousin to write letters to while he was away. 

And then Lu Ten died. Uncle gave up the siege of Ba Sing Se. Azula came to Zuko’s room one night, and told him that Father was going to kill one of them. Either Zuko, who would be reborn but would carry the scar of his own father’s fatal blow, or Azula. The child who would not, could not, come back from the world of spirits. 

“Maybe… maybe I’m a phoenix, too.” Azula said. 

“Maybe.” Zuko said. He hoped.

Neither of them ended up dying, because Mother came to Zuko in the middle of the night and pressed a kiss to his forehead. He hadn’t known she was saying goodbye. 

Father refused to tell him where she went. 

As soon as Mother had gone, Father also forced Zuko to train harder, train longer, and suffer worse punishments should he fail. He was a phoenix, for Agni’s sake. There had to have been something blocking what should have been phenomenal firebending prowess. Father also said that it was okay if Zuko died during training, because he could, and _ should,  _ come back stronger than before. 

And that was Zuko’s role in their new family dynamic. 

Azula was the gifted one, Zuko the blessed one. 

Azula the natural born prodigy, Zuko the imperfect experiment. 

And then Zuko spoke out of term at the war meeting.

The laws of an Agni Kai were simple. Usually, only one person walked out of the duel alive. The blow that Father dealt was meant to kill Zuko. To teach his little phoenix that, just because he was blessed, did not mean he should have ever dared to oppose his own Fire Lord. 

Except that Zuko survived. He survived the initial burn and the ensuing infection. 

Many people present that day believed that Ozai held back (perhaps because he was too sentimental or weak). Others thought it was a great sin to maim one blessed by the spirits. Regardless, Zuko was a black mark on Ozai’s reputation and his reign. 

So Zuko was banished. Sent away so his  _ heart could grow fonder for home _ and he’d  _ learn to obey his father. _

And Zuko believed him. He believed his father and went aboard his little warship quietly, with only a skeleton crew and Uncle for company. 

Except that Zuko  _ hated _ being surrounded by endless ocean and the scent of salt and he  _ hated _ the eternal rocking of the ship and he couldn’t stand knowing he was banished  _ indefinitely _ because either Father revoked his banishment or Zuko returned home with the Avatar in tow and Zuko, most of all, hated the scar upon his face he  _ hated _ the shame it brought him he  _ hated _ the agony that came with it he  _ hated - _

Zuko would later be ashamed of his next death, and how he died by his own hand. He stole a length of rope from the store room well after midnight, so late that no one would know anything of his odd little action before morning. 

Zuko woke up under familiar golden skies.

_ “Child, why have you come back so soon?” _

Zuko’s ancestor was roosting in a massive nest of ashen branches and glimmering, glistering downy feathers. Zuko came and sat next to her, back pressed against her side. He couldn’t bear to look at her. 

“I hated looking at myself.”

_ “Haven’t you suffered enough?” _   


The answer was no and yes and never all at once. Zuko bore scars upon his body from the several times Azula killed him, either by accident or from her raw fury (Never with lightning, though. Not since the first time). But they were all marks easily hidden by modest clothing. 

Zuko wanted nothing more than his honor restored, and his lack of it was his greatest source of shame.

_ “You should not be here.”  _

And she sounded so saddened, so much like Mother, that Zuko’s heart ached. 

He looked away, and saw his reflection staring back. Zuko’s stomach twisted at the sight of his marred face. Zuko touched the skin around his burned eye. 

_ “Why did you do it?” _   


“I just…”

Needed to feel solid ground beneath his feet. Needed to stop seeing pitying glances at the corner of his eye. 

“I needed to get away from everything.”   
  
She-who-gave-way-to-Zuko’s-bloodline sighed. She lowered her head and pulled Zuko’s hair free of his tie. She began to comb through his hair once more, like he was her own young. Zuko rested his head against her side.

_ “You may stay until morning. But then, you will have to go home.” _

_ Home.  _ Zuko closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from crying. He wanted to go home so badly.

When he next opened his eyes, he was laying in a heap on the floor. His clothes and the rope around his neck had burned away. The basin of water Zuko had set aside beforehand was still sitting on his table, and he scrubbed the ashes from his skin before getting dressed. Zuko emerged onto the deck, where Uncle Iroh was enjoying the sunrise. 

“Goodmorning, Prince Zuko. How did you-”   
  
Uncle’s words cut off abruptly. His gentle smile vanished from his face.

“Zuko, what did you do?”

And Zuko, who could never hide a secret to save his life, immediately reached for his throat. The skin of his neck felt rough and tender.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He still said. They both knew he was lying.

He found out later, after he looked in a mirror, that there was a hideous ring of darkened flesh around his throat. But in that moment, while he was still on the deck, Zuko was prepared for Uncle to shout at him. Maybe even hit him. Instead, Uncle pulled Zuko into a hug and began to cry. 

The great Dragon of the West, sobbing quietly into Zuko’s shoulder for an untold amount of time. 

He had never felt more ashamed of himself. 

Zuko started wearing high collars with his long sleeves. Or handkerchiefs, the knot tied in the way his crew had once shown him how to do. Anything to hide the mark of his shame.

Two and a half years passed. Zuko grew more careful. Uncle never caught him again. 

But when the nights felt too long and his metal room too cold, when Zuko felt like he could scream toward the heavens for years without an answer, when his anger and shame and the hunger for home overwhelmed him, he took matters into his own hands. There were already plenty of scars on his torso, most from the lightning or fire Azula once shot at him. Even if Uncle saw, he’d probably think nothing of another mark upon his nephew’s skin. So Zuko sank a knife into his stomach, and he welcomed the loss of sensation in his limbs. 

Another time, he had felt so utterly hopeless, so certain that the Avatar would never appear. Even as Zuko raged during the day to find the mysterious World Spirit, at night he only wished he had the fortune of others. To die and stay dead. He already wore long sleeves anyways, no one would notice a few pale lines upon his wrists. 

She-who-stared-with-ruby-eyes didn’t understand. It was Zuko’s only outlet. The only way for him to escape his world for a few precious hours. Besides, she should have been happy to see her descendant so often. 

But the next time Zuko died, it was a genuine accident. He was up in the crow’s nest late at night, but not late enough for Uncle to have gone to bed. Zuko just wanted some fresh air and a space where he could pretend he was alone. Then it started to rain, and Zuko knew that Uncle would be upset with him if he caught a cold. So Zuko began the climb down when the ship lurched to the side. 

He lost his footing. He slipped. He died. 

(He hadn’t been holding onto the ladder as tightly as one who valued their life should have been. He never told Uncle this.)

_ “I’d like you to be more careful from now on. I will not be happy if I have to see you again soon.” _

And Zuko, who was used to harsh, parental words being backed by flames and fury, could not help but take those words as a veiled threat. He didn’t understand why his ancestor was so intent on having him not die, but he didn’t want to upset her further.

His one and only outlet was now gone.

Zuko woke up the next morning and saw the dark bags under Uncle Iroh’s eyes. The helmsman told Zuko that Uncle had spent the entire night restlessly praying. Why, Zuko was never sure. He was a phoenix-born. He’d always come back. It did cement the importance of his secrecy, however. Uncle Iroh was the sentimental type. He wouldn’t take well to knowing about Zuko’s other incidents. 

Then, after years of searching, he found the Avatar. And Zuko felt hope when he had learned to live each day without it. For a while, probably a record-setting amount of time, Zuko didn’t die. Not when he fought with the Avatar, not when he  _ rescued _ the Avatar from Zhao. Not even when those damn pirates blew up his ship. (That night, Uncle Iroh pulled him out of the waters with tears in his eyes.) Despite the injuries he got from the blast, Zuko decided not to resurrect himself. If Uncle noticed his sudden lack of bruises and cuts, he’d certainly be upset. 

Zuko’s inner flame kept him warm even in the depths of the North Pole, where he almost died twice more. Once, below a sheet of ice. Another time to the Water Tribe girl. 

He almost died a lot after that, no longer a prince but a wanted fugitive. He almost died in bar fights and street brawls with strangers. With Azula. With Jet. With Dai Li agents. Each time, Zuko felt the eyes of death upon his back. And each time, he managed to cling to the world of the living.

And then Zuko made the single worst decision in his life, and went home with Azula. When Zuko finally realized the gravity of his mistake, he felt the immediate urge to kill himself once more. Pain would have been his punishment, and his outlet. Then he thought of Uncle Iroh, and the Avatar, and the world that needed him. 

Zuko willingly fled from his homeland after three years of banishment. Despite the odds being against him, he hoped he wouldn’t have to die again. He begged to join Aang’s group and was accepted after nearly falling into death’s embrace yet again. The immediate future felt so bright for Zuko.

And then Katara came to him one day after he finished training with Aang, and challenged him to a sparring match. He accepted. Maybe he shouldn’t have, given that she threatened to end him less than a week prior. Maybe she just wanted to show him what she was capable of, as if all their past fights hadn’t proven her skill. 

But under her searing gaze, Zuko just couldn’t forge the strength to fight with her like he did with Aang. Their brawl just felt redundant. Midway through their sparring session, he realized this wasn’t training so much as it was a one-sided grudge match. He thought that, maybe if she won, he’d be making her happy.

And then he fell and cracked the base of his skull against a metal railing. Before that familiar darkness overtook his vision, he saw Katara running toward him.

_ I’m fine. _ He wanted to say.  _ Don’t worry about me.  _

And then he died.

She-who-forged-Zuko’s-bloodline sighed when he appeared before her. He stood at a respectful distance, knowing he had failed her. 

“I tried not to die.”   
  
She tilted her head to the side. Her ancient eyes were soft and sad.  _ “I know. I suppose accidents do happen.” _

Could Zuko be burned in the spirit world?   


_ “Come, why don’t you sit with me?” _

Zuko blinked. “What?”

She gestured with her head to the spot in the nest next to herself. 

_ “You’ve had a difficult day. And tomorrow will be harder. For now, come here and rest.” _

She wasn’t mad?   
  
Zuko wondered if perhaps Uncle inherited his infinite patience from their other-wordly ancestor. Zuko closed the gap between them and sat down besides her. Below him were the sparkling waters of the infinite river that flowed through the canyon. Zuko watched the white crests of the waves as they clashed with each other in an eternal babble. One large wing draped itself over his shoulders. Zuko leaned into that gentle touch.

_ “You’ve at least found who you were meant to be?” _   
  
“Yes.” Zuko answered. He was just too slow, as always, in figuring out what his destiny truly was.

A beak in his hair. Zuko closed his eyes and sighed.

_ “Good. You deserve to be happy, my little prince.” _   
  
Zuko wasn’t sure he himself believed that. 

_ “Do you blame the girl?” _   
  
He opened his eyes. “Katara?”

She nodded. 

“No, of course not.”

Katara was perhaps rightfully angry with him, and they were training. Accidents occurred even in the most careful of situations. Not that Zuko would be mad even if she did it on purpose. 

The next few moments passed by in a sort of peaceful quiet, the air filled with the sound of moving water and gentle winds. Time behaved in odd ways in the spirit world, progressing just like the physical world in some places and not at all in others. Zuko assumed that dawn would come sooner than expected.

_ “When you go back, try to be patient with her.” _   
  
Zuko bit his lower lip. Katara would probably be mad at him for leaving his body for her to deal with.

“I will.” He said.

* * *

Zuko awoke, and shouted. While in the spirit world, he had thought of all the ways he could explain what he was to the group, because they’d certainly have questions for him. He didn’t expect to wake up and for them all to be gawking at him. For spirit’s sake, he wasn’t wearing clothes. Like always, they had burned off when he was reborn.

At least it was just Aang and Sokka (and Toph, but Zuko had to remind himself that she couldn’t see). Katara was not facing him at all.

“G-get out!” He shouted, feeling the heat in his face. (He shouldn’t have shouted because he had learned to be kinder than that, but…)

The group scrambled out of sight. At least they had the sense to dump his body in his room. The spare clothes Zuko had left in the ancient chest by the bed were a welcome boon. Once he was dressed, he took a deep breath. He should have told the others he was a phoenix-born sooner. He couldn’t imagine the amount of stress and fear he put them through.

Making sure his neck was covered and his sleeves were pulled low, Zuko went to go find the others. 

* * *

In a world without dragons or airbenders, Aang never thought he’d see another phoenix-born again. They were supposed to bring luck to their families, and were once known to be very spiritual beings. Blessings from Agni, supposedly.

What Aang saw instead, as the smoke cleared and the flames died down, was  _ horrifying.  _ It never occurred to him that if Zuko had one scar, he’d likely have more.

The first ones he noticed were the raised red trails that spread like claw marks across most of Zuko’s body. They were awful in a gut-churning way because Aang couldn’t even fathom the incredible force that must have caused them. There were more burns, too. The same shade of brutal, angry red as the one on Zuko’s face. And the white lines from blades were even worse. Aang regretted watching as Zuko was reborn. He wished it had occurred to him to usher the others away so they could give Zuko some respect and privacy. But he didn’t. And instead, he saw the red ring of flesh around Zuko’s throat. Not many things could cause that. 

“Aang?” Toph asked. 

They had all been quiet so far. Waiting. Toph’s voice was low, but echoed across the wide open space. 

“Yeah?”

“What’s a phoenix-born?”

Aang saw the way Katara and Sokka also turned to stare at him. He sighed. 

“They’re people who’re descendents of phoenixes, fire spirits that used to live among humans. They resurrect themselves after death.”

But Aang didn’t know they kept their scars. 

Footsteps broke the ensuing silence. Zuko emerged from within the temple, his familiar high-collared tunic and long-sleeved undershirt in place. Aang looked away. 

“Uh, hi guys.” Zuko said, painstakingly nonchalant. It reminded Aang of when Zuko first arrived at the Western Air temple not that long ago.

No one spoke for a few seconds. Aang noticed that Katara was looking anywhere other than Zuko.

“Well...I’m alright,” Zuko said, “I know I probably scared you all, and I should have told you guys that I don’t die. I mean, not really. And I’m sorry about that-”

Aang stared at Zuko, speechless, as he apologized for  _ dying.  _

“-but it’s honestly just a part of who I am, and it never occurred to me that you all didn’t know.”

Silence. Zuko’s eyes darted to and fro, looking for a reaction from any of them.

“...And I’m sorry for making you all put up with me- with my body.”

Something snapped, some unspoken tension in the air. 

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Katara asked, voice ragged and low. Aang didn’t think she got much sleep last night.

Zuko took a step back, eyes widening. 

“I know, I made a mistake and-”   
  
“You made us all think you were dead!” Katara’s voice rose. “You made me think I  _ killed _ you!”

* * *

Zuko almost flinched from Katara’s harsh words. (Almost, because Azula was his sister and Ozai was his father.)

Of all of Aang’s group, he hadn’t expected Katara to be upset at all. She was the one who threatened to end Zuko if he threatened Aang. (And he hadn’t told her that he  _ couldn’t _ die because he knew the importance of wanting your voice to be heard. He also fully understood her threat regardless.)

He almost expected her to be happy. She had gotten experience killing him. That was good. That meant she could be more prepared to do it again. He swallowed, his mouth dry. He wished he knew what Katara wanted. 

“I know I upset you. But-” He couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. “-But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Katara balled her hands into fists - _ smoke, steam, heat in his lungs, something icy cold around his ankle-  _ and Zuko gaped at her as she began to cry.

“Make it up to  _ me? _ ”

Zuko’s silence was only more kindling for her.

Katara’s voice rose. “Why aren’t you mad at me, Zuko?”   
  
Sokka said, “Katara-”   
  
“No.” She pointed a finger at Zuko, “Do you have any idea what it was like to look at you and think you were gone for good?”   


“But you said you would-”   
  
_ “That’s different!  _ You hadn’t done anything wrong and it was  _ me _ who killed you anyway!”

Katara was crying now, wiping the tears from her face with the heel of her palm. Aang was quick to step between them while Sokka moved to stand by his sister. Zuko and Aang shared a look. He still wasn’t the best with people, but he thought he was beginning to understand why Katara was so upset. 

_ Try to be patient with her. _

He wanted to take a step closer, but resisted the urge. Zuko looked to Katara. “It was an accident. They happen. And I… I forgive you, Katara.”

Zuko thought he finally said something right. Katara quieted, just a little bit. She looked to him and couldn’t muster any words, but there was this unspoken sense of relief in her eyes. She was not a murderer. At least, not one in cold blood. Zuko was just relieved that she had stopped being so upset. He wasn’t worth crying over. Not to any of them, not when he had done so much to hurt them. 

Zuko spent the rest of the day away from Katara, either training with Aang or meditating on his own.

* * *

Zuko died a few more times after that, but not by his own devices. The first came on during a night like any other. There was a smaller training area on the uppermost level of the main temple where he preferred to train Aang. It was more out of the way, with less people likely to be burned by walking in on them. He was late to morning training for  _ reasons,  _ and found Aang playing around instead of doing his stretches. 

“You shouldn’t go near there!” He shouted, noticing that Aang had taken to walking on the ledge of the courtyard like a tightrope. 

“What? Why?” Aang asked, using a bit of airbending to lift himself away from the edge, and the subsequent drop below. 

“The outer edges of the temples aren’t solid, the stone can fall away.”

“Really?” Aang was nowhere near the edge now, but he frowned as something odd dawned upon him. 

“How’d you know that?”   


Fuck. 

“It happened to me last night.”   
  
Zuko hadn’t been sleeping well since Katara killed him. Her face, her _ tears,  _ haunted him when he tried to rest. He thought some practice would do him some good and clear his head. 

“I got out of the way in time, though.” Zuko added. 

He wasn’t wearing the usual clothes from the days before. These were newer, with less ash on them. 

“We should probably warn the others after training, then.” Aang said. It was all he said.

Zuko exhaled quietly. He nodded, and began training. 

(Afterward, it didn’t take Aang long to notice where some of the floor had given way. It took even less time to find the shallow crater in the ground two levels below them.)

* * *

The mood around the campfire was lighter than usual, despite being forced to flee from the Western Air Temple earlier in the day. The group was hopping from topic to topic, everyone enjoying the warm night air.

“Hey, Sparky. Where do you go when you die?” Toph asked. 

The chatter around the campfire died in an instant. Zuko looked up from his dinner. Toph, he found, was the most callous of the group. And yet, he liked her. She was brutally honest in a way people rarely were, almost always with good intent.

“The spirit world?” He said it more like a question, because wasn’t the answer obvious?   


“Is it different for phoenixes than it is for people?”   
  
Zuko opened his mouth to respond, then hesitated. He had only known she-who-was-born-from-ashes, and the old man (who he discovered was his great-grandfather). He never met anyone else in the spirit world. 

“I’m not sure. I mean, I mostly spend my time there with my ancestors.”

Aang’s face fell. “Like Sozin?”

Zuko’s eyes widened. “No, no. I mean my phoenix grandmother.”

And just like that, there was a hum of interest filling the air.

“You’ve met her? What’s she like? Is it true they leave trails of fireworks when they fly?” Aang asked. 

“Fireworks? I thought they made rainbows.” The new girl, Suki, said. 

“Wait, do they not look like shooting stars then?” Sokka asked.

They all went back to looking at him now. Zuko shrugged.

“She looks like the fire from the dragon masters, full of color I didn’t think was possible in our world.”

He ate another spoonful of his dinner, and realized the ensuing silence was because they wanted him to say more. Zuko wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I don’t know if it’s just in the spirit world, but phoenixes are also really big. Taller than humans. And she has eyes that look like gemstones.”

“Is she like other spirits where she’s really aloof and mysterious?” Aang asked. 

Zuko didn’t know of any other beings to compare her to, so he said, “I don’t think so. But she’s really patient with me. And she’s never mad when I visit her.”

_ “Visit?”  _ Katara repeated, “You mean like when you…”

Zuko mentally berated himself. He kept his gaze fixed on the campfire. “Yeah.”

Even after years of wallowing in his self-hatred, she was as patient as Uncle was. Zuko had so much more to do before he considered himself an honorable man, but he hoped to make both her and Uncle proud.

* * *

When Zuko finally found Uncle again, he had been prepared to beg for forgiveness. He had been prepared for Uncle to, finally, be furious with him. He even began to repent for his sins with tears in his eyes, expecting Uncle to hate him.

He did not expect Uncle Iroh to embrace him almost immediately, and hold him tight. Zuko didn’t understand it at all, but he had missed the sensation of touch that was not someone trying to hurt him.

“I was never angry with you,” Uncle said, “I was sad because I thought you had lost your way.”

But Zuko had. He made so many mistakes that he was only recently beginning to make up for. And this wasn’t even the first time Zuko had made Uncle afraid. His body bore too many scars of his self-hatred, and too few that Uncle knew about.

For now, Zuko sank into the warm, gentle embrace of an uncle he thought would surely despise him. He had never felt safer.

* * *

Zuko didn’t die from the initial strike of lightning to his heart, but he did from the ensuing complications. Azula never found out, having been defeated and locked away in the aftermath of their Agni Kai.

It was the first death Zuko experienced that was slow and so utterly miserable. The erratic stuttering of his heart was leaving him more and more breathless. His body, trying its best, was valiantly fighting a losing battle. Even with Katara’s help, Zuko knew the embrace of his oldest friend quite well. Death came to him in the wake of his victory over his sister.

When Zuko next opened his eyes, he was back in the spirit world. But the air felt warmer than usual. 

She was waiting for him with sparkling eyes. Zuko sat down before her. 

_ “You did it. You have brought balance, my little prince.” _

“Me? But Aang defeated my father.”   
  
_ “Yes, indeed. But when the Avatar needed you most, you were there for him.” _

She exhaled a plume of warm air, and it resonated with Zuko’s inner flame. It burned in his bones and made him feel so airy and warm. Like he was a candle free to dance in the wind, knowing it could not be extinguished. Was that what it was like to be a phoenix?   
  
_ “And you have finally found both balance and peace within yourself as well.” _

Zuko smiled and nodded. “It took me long enough.”

His ancestor laughed like bells in the wind. She said, _ “Your path has been difficult and harsh, but I could not be more proud, Zuko.” _

She leaned down and pressed the top of her head to Zuko’s forehead. He closed his eyes, enjoying the soft, silky feel of her feathers. Their inner flames burned as one.

_ “Dawn will come soon.” _

“I know. I’ll see you again, after I’ve lived a full life.”   
  
_ “Good.” _

When Zuko opened his eyes, the heat in his bones hadn’t dissipated. 

The sun had just begun its daily travels over the sky, casting light across his room in hues of orange and gold. It was a new day, a new era, and a new life. 

Just as he rose with the sun, Zuko sat up and rose from his ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated and I do also have a twitter [here!](https://twitter.com/beepmareep)


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